Janet's Blog

It isn't an official holiday in our country, but May Day has been celebrated throughout the Northern Hemisphere for hundreds of years, first as a raucous pagan celebration, then as a Christianized holy day, and finally as a secular nod to its varied roots.  Now, May Day in the U.S. is celebrated to varying degrees, depending on which region of the country you live in, as a festive way to welcome spring. When I was a young girl, virtually all of the kids in northeastern Nebraska made May baskets and delivered them to their friends' doorsteps on May 1st.  Most often, May baskets were constructed from decorated paper cups with pipe cleaner handles, or they were folded and cut from brightly-colored construction paper, and filled with candy and popcorn.  (The days of flower-filled May baskets were long gone, even in the mid-twentieth century.)  I remember hurrying home from school to assemble May baskets so they could be delivered that evening before the sun set.  Usually, Mom loa

I painted a cornfield today.  Okay, Levi helped with the first half.  You would be safe in assuming that neither of us has ever painted a cornfield before.  I think Mom helped paint one many years ago, though, on the side of a building in Fairbury.  I suppose that it's reasonable to expect Nebraska artists to paint cornfields, at least once in a lifetime. Meagan and Andy are just finishing the final touches on their new house so they can move in this week.  When the old house was torn down, they were sad that the murals on Toby's nursery walls had to be demolished, too, so I volunteered to paint a new mural in Toby's new room.  They wanted the same farm theme again, but this new room is going to have a John Deere tractor bed in another year or so, when Toby graduates from his crib, so Andy suggested that I paint cornstalks on one wall to make it look as if the tractor bed is driving through a cornfield.  When Erin helped paint the farm murals in Toby's origin

I guess you don't see many women playing electric bass these days--especially women my age.  Perhaps it's because the bass is a low instrument, similar in register to a man's low voice.  Or, maybe it's because it's such a stretch for most women to reach the tuning pegs and manage the fingering.  Most likely, though, it's just because the bass is often considered to be a rock instrument, and rock bands are usually made up of young, male musicians.  I don't know for sure, and I really don't care; I don't pay much attention to the occasional odd looks and comments that come my way. I know that my playing is somewhat unconventional.  Because of my arthritis and other related issues, I sit on a stool to play.  I usually use a pick to protect my thumb and fingers from further cracks caused by the combination of our dry climate and too much job-related hand washing.  I have to use two music stand lights so I can see well enough to follow the music, especi

Annette Funicello died this week at the age of seventy, from complications of Multiple Sclerosis.  She debuted on Disney's Mickey Mouse Club at the age of 13, when I was just a baby.  At a time when we considered ourselves lucky to get three blurry, black and white channels on the family television set, we all watched the Mickey Mouse Club, even after it went to reruns.  As a mouseketeer, Annette was the epitome of the girl next door.  We watched her, sang with her, emulated her.  Everyone knew who Annette was.   Annette grew up singing and acting in several Disney movies--usually set on the sunny beaches of California. Those of us who grew up in land-locked Nebraska could only imagine what it might be like to bask on the beach every day.  I wasn't daring enough to even think about surfing, but Annette rode the tide of surfing movies and the Beach Boys' music.  As the 1960s revved up, she was a consistently stable, wholesome influence for us--always the girl next doo